


Time will say nothing but "I told you so"

by rocknrollravenclaw



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz and Simmons build a time machine, Mutual Pining, Since it's a UA where they don't go into the field they're more like their season 1 selves, UA, and are huge nerds, and meet their younger selves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9099118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrollravenclaw/pseuds/rocknrollravenclaw
Summary: After graduating from SHIELD Academy, Fitz and Simmons are recruited by a secretive SHIELD department known as Triple T: Time Travel and Teleportation. While working on their time travel device, they accidentally activate it and travel back to 2005, when their younger selves were still attending the academy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for meangalaxies on tumblr, as part of Fitzsimmons Secret Santa. The prompt was time travel, which I enjoyed immensely! I hope you like it too. The title comes from the poem “If I Could Tell You” by W. H. Auden.

“Don’t touch my thermal regulators!”

The man, who had been just about to pick one up, jumped at the sound of Fitz’s voice before glaring and walking away.

Jemma, making notes on some blueprints, gave Fitz an amused glance. “He wasn’t going to break it, Fitz.”

“He might’ve,” Fitz muttered as he loosely attached thick panels to a metal frame. “And then where would we be?”

“At the same stage as everyone else for once,” said Jemma. “Remember, we’re all working toward the same goal here.”

“Are we?” Fitz gestured with one of his hands to the machine in front of him, then to the other side of the large room, where a group of eight people were milling around a similar-looking machine.

Jemma sighed. “Yes, we are. We’re just — working at a more accelerated pace, that’s all. With a different design.”

“A _better_ design,” Fitz argued.

Jemma rolled her eyes as she stood up. “I’m going to get us some lunch. What do you want?”

Hearing the word “lunch,” Fitz paused, his eyes lighting up. “Could you make me one of your specials? Please?”

Jemma felt a grin take over her face. “One prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich, with just a hint of pesto aioli, coming right up!”

As she left the room and its nondescript door behind, she couldn’t stop thinking about the machine. After six months, they were so close to finishing the construction of the machine. After that, it would be time ( _Pun intended_ , she thought) to test it and see if it actually worked. Even though her and Fitz were working ahead of schedule, she had no idea if it would actually work. Only time would tell.

When she and Fitz had graduated from S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy of Science and Technology, they knew they were going to stay together; the problem was _where_. Jemma wanted to go into the field, so they could see the world first-hand, while Fitz was content to stay sheltered in a lab, changing the world from behind a pair of safety goggles. They had argued back and forth, neither one backing down or giving in.

In the end, they accepted an offer to work for the new but highly secretive S.H.I.E.L.D. program on the Academy’s campus code-named Triple T — time travel and teleportation. The program needed engineers to build the machine, while specialists in biology and chemistry made sure the machine was safe for humans. It was a bold goal, one that Jemma thought was impossible but secretly hoped could happen. The program was a good compromise: Fitz would get his lab work, while the promise of adventure for Jemma would be fulfilled once the machine was operational.

Leaving the nondescript building behind, Jemma marched over to the cafeteria, making Fitz his sandwich and putting together a large salad for herself. When she returned, Fitz was busy welding together the newly-attached panels, a welding helmet obscuring his face. Seeing her, he stopped welding and gave her a giant thumbs up in his giant black gloves, which Jemma returned by gesturing to his sandwich.

By the time she reached the table, Fitz had already pulled off his helmet and gloves and was staring longingly at the foil-wrapped object in Jemma’s arms. “You’re the best, Jemma,” he said, giving her a quick smile as he grabbed the sandwich.

Jemma’s heart gave a little squeeze. She couldn’t stop looking at him as they sat down, eating their respective meals. Six months she’d known she was in love with him, and she still couldn’t understand how she hadn’t noticed it sooner. When they were graduating from the Academy Jemma had been tense all throughout the graduation ceremony, knowing that a new phase of her life was starting. One thought above all terrified her — that she and Fitz might part ways, slowly drifting apart until they no longer spoke.

That was when it hit her: the realization that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Fitz. That he was everything to her — her lab partner, fellow nerd, best friend, _love_. Even though Jemma wanted to be out in the world, she would have followed Fitz into a dark small hole if it meant never being parted.

And the worst part was that she would never tell him how she felt. She was too afraid that Fitz would reject her, or he wouldn’t feel the same way, or he _would_ feel the same but their friendship would be ruined. It was best she kept her feelings to herself, for both their sakes.

They chatted all throughout lunch, about flux capacitors and wormholes and time turners. It always amazed Jemma how they never ran out of topics to talk about. When they finished eating, Fitz resumed his welding while Jemma installed the thermal regulators.

Sometime later, as Fitz finished attaching and welding panels to the machine’s frame while Jemma tested the life support systems, the people working on the other machine left for the day. When Jemma eventually noticed that they had the room to themselves, she dragged a speaker system from the corner to their work table and began blasting some upbeat pop songs. Both of them shamelessly belted out the lyrics at the top of their lungs, neither of them caring that they were off key and shouting rather than singing. At one point Jemma managed to secretly film a video of Fitz wiggling as he made marks on the panels, silently chuckling the entire time.

The hours ticked away as they installed features and tested them, working in perfect harmony. All Fitz needed to do was hold out a hand and Jemma would give him the correct tool; or Jemma would gesture to the table and Fitz would grab the relevant blueprint. It was like they were a single brain, a single consciousness, fused and merged into something wonderful.

It was late when they both stepped away from the machine, finished with their individual tasks. They silently looked it over, a feeling of awe washing over them.

The machine was a bulky cylinder, eight feet tall with a diameter of 15 feet. The walls were gray and unevenly lit by the soft overhead lights, shiny in some places and near-black in others. The door was a barely noticeable line set into the thick walls.

“She’s beautiful,” Fitz said quietly, the huskiness of his voice making Jemma shiver. She nodded; they had made this brilliant creation all by themselves. This machine was their baby.

Jemma waited a few moments before walking up to the door and pressing her hand into the slight indention in the metal. The outline of her hand glowed blue; recognizing her fingerprints, the door gave a hiss and slowly pushed open. Jemma turned and looked at Fitz expectantly. “Coming?”

They entered the machine together. The interior was rather sparse and open, featuring a single ceiling light which illuminated two touch screens embedded in the wall. The wall bisected the interior of the machine; a narrow door on the right of the screens led to the other half, which housed all the necessary parts of the machine: engine, power source, thermal and oxygen regulators, a backup generator, and manual controls. Jemma had plans to add seats, railings, and more ceiling lights to the interior, but other than that the machine was completely finished.

Fitz stepped into the light, examining the black screens, as the door hissed closed. He was striking in the light, Jemma noticed, with his hair turned almost golden and his face dramatically shadowed. She bit her lip to keep from saying it aloud.

She changed topics to keep from thinking about it. “We never gave her a name, did we?” Jemma asked.

Fitz frowned as he pressed the power buttons of the screens. “I thought we decided on the Tardilorean?”

Jemma snorted. “I was _kidding_ when I suggested that. It’s a ridiculous name, not dignified at all.”

“I rather like it,” Fitz confessed. The screens lit up as they powered on. Jemma was delighted to see that they started up correctly, showing the home screen. Jemma approached the left and began selecting options, making sure the interface had no bugs.

“Well then, the Tardilorean it is,” Jemma said. S.H.I.E.L.D. had its own name for the machine in official papers, TTT-002, but Jemma and Fitz had agreed that they needed their own name.

Putting a sample date into the screen that controlled time jumps, Jemma glanced at her watch, and was startled to see that it was almost 2 a.m. “We should go home for the night,” she suggested, though she didn’t feel tired at all. On the contrary: she was wide awake, ready to do _something_ interesting.

Fitz shook his head. “Not yet. We finally finished her — I want to enjoy the moment.”

“The interior still isn’t decorated, Fitz,” Jemma reminded him.

“Yes, I can see that, Jemma,” Fitz said, bringing out his familiar annoyed Scottish tone. “But in the grand scheme of things, that’s not so important.”

After a moment, he added, “Besides, if I oversleep tomorrow then I won’t have to go on my date with Ashley.”

Jemma whirled around, startled. “What?” _Be cool, Jemma_ , she reminded herself. _It’s perfectly reasonable for Fitz to be interested in other women._

“It’s nothing. I don’t really want to go anyways. It’s just that she asked me, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but — I’m not interested in her like that. Just so you know.” Fitz nervously reached a hand up to his neck.

Jemma let out a small sigh, though internally she was cheering. Wiping her palms on her pants, she placed a hand on the wall and leaned, trying to look casual. “Why don’t-“

_Chirp chirp chirp_. The ground beneath Jemma’s feet began to hum, gently at first but gradually picking up intensity.

“Jemma?” Fitz was looking over her shoulder, trying to see the screens. Jemma turned back and instantly felt sick. She had accidentally placed her hand on the screen, not the wall, and the screen was showing the words LAUNCH TIME JUMP.

“We need to override the command-“ Jemma began. She was interrupted as the room violently lurched to the side. She stumbled sideways, knocking herself and Fitz to the ground. Her head hit the ground, not hard enough to give herself a concussion, but enough that the room wobbled in front of her eyes for a few seconds.

Fitz, having managed to pick himself up, reached down a hand. Jemma gratefully grabbed it, and through a combination of Fitz’s pulling and Jemma’s pushing off the ground she got to her feet. By that time, the room was spinning so fast that Jemma and Fitz were pressed against the wall by centrifugal force.

She couldn’t reach the screens, but it didn’t matter by that time anyways; the countdown on the screen told her that it was too late for an automatic shutdown. Her foreboding only increased as she felt the hair on her arms begin to stand up. Jemma glanced at Fitz and saw that his face was paler than usual and his eyes were large.

“It’s starting,” he said softly. Jemma knew what he meant: the particle ejector on the other side of the machine from the door was activating, shooting out particles and dark matter in an attempt to create a wormhole. The theory was that when a certain date or coordinates were input, the machine would create a wormhole that would deliver them to that time or place.

Theory — that was what all this was based on. They were dealing with concepts that, if possible, were wholly unknown. Anything could happen.

_I said I wanted adventure, and this is what I get,_ Jemma thought bitterly. _I suppose it serves me right._ She felt like throwing up, both from the nerves and the intense spinning. When the Tardilorean began to shake, emitting a low shuddering noise, she closed her eyes. _Unauthorized, untested, unproven — there is no way this ends well._

Something warm nudged Jemma’s hand. Surprised, she opened one eye to see Fitz looking at her with a mixture of concern and fear, his hand brushing hers. She wrapped her cool hand around his, their fingers intertwining. It wasn’t romantic, but somehow that made it more powerful — two scientists, standing united against the limits of physics, terrified by what could happen but also elated by it. _This_ was all Jemma needed, pining be damned; as long as he was by her side, she could do anything.

The next minute was the longest minute of Jemma’s life. The air felt like it was saturated with static electricity, causing small shocks against Jemma’s exposed skin. The temperature steadily climbed, a dry heat that sapped energy and chapped skin. The shuddering increased to the point where Jemma _did_ throw up, her vomit thankfully flying away from Fitz to hit the curved wall ten feet to her left; she wiped her lips clean on her sleeve. The light suddenly blinked off, leaving them solely illuminated by the blue light of the screens, which kept jarringly pixelating before returning to normal.

Jemma lost any last bit of hope remaining that they would make it out of this when the pressure began mounting. It felt like every surface of her skin was compressed, trying to push itself inward (the image of a trash compactor came to mind). She grimaced from the pain. _Bloody hell. No reason to hold back now._ As her last act of defiance, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against Fitz’s.

It was a terrible kiss. Jemma’s lips felt sore from being rubbed after throwing up, and Fitz’s lips were incredibly dry. Fitz stiffened as they touched. But Jemma didn’t care — after repressing her feelings for so long, it felt good to finally let them be known. It would be one hell of a way to go out.

Suddenly, the pressure dropped back down to its normal level. At the same time, the shuddering ceased and the room seemed to be spinning a little bit slower. Jemma pulled away quickly, confused. The screens were back to normal, though the ceiling light was still out.

Jemma and Fitz drifted over to the screens as the room slowly ground to a halt. The right screen had gone back to the home page, but the left screen was showing a new message: TIME JUMP COMPLETED.

“No way,” Fitz whispered as Jemma’s heart began to soar. They clearly weren’t dead — was it possible the machine had actually worked?

Invigorated with new energy, Jemma ran to the door, tugging Fitz along behind her. Using her free hand to activate the seal, she watched as the door sprung open. Immediately she had to shield her face as bright lights from the area beyond nearly blinded her. After a few seconds, her vision cleared enough for her to see. She stepped out of the machine and stopped, catching her breath.

They were in the same room as they had been in previously, but the contents had changed. The other group’s machine was gone, as was all the materials and tools scattered around. Instead, several long tables stretched across the room, filled with watches and small black chips that looked like tracking devices. Jemma knew that before this building had been the base of Triple T, it had been used to mass-produce field equipment such as GPS watches. Which meant if it looked like it had in the past . . .

Jemma squeezed Fitz’s hand tighter, reassured that he was still there. Everything else might be an illusion, but she knew he at least was real.

A smile began growing on Jemma’s face and she let out a small chuckle. It was impossible — no, not impossible: _incredible_. “I think we did it,” she said softly. “We successfully traveled back in time.”

***

Fitz couldn’t help it; Jemma’s chuckle had opened a flood of emotions in him. Suddenly he was laughing hysterically, and didn’t know how to stop. Jemma’s smile seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world, and he couldn’t stop looking at her. Looking radiant, like she had swallowed a star, Jemma let go of his hand to wrap her arms tightly around his shoulders. If the last minute had been the worst experience in the world, this was surely the best — overturning decades of scientific agreement about the impossibility of time travel while being held by the woman he loved.

That thought abruptly reminded him of the kiss. _Later,_ he thought. _I’ll talk to her about that later._

The smallest possibility that Jemma felt about him the way he felt about her excited him immensely. Shortly after meeting her in their shared third-level math class (which they were taking in their first year) he had developed an intense crush on her. Sure she was beautiful, but her mind was unsurpassed. Analytic, logical, calculating — and kind, and awkward, and adventurous. Fitz was madly in love with her, and maybe, just maybe, she loved him too.

Then Milton came along, and his dreams were crushed. He realized that she didn’t see him as anything more than her best friend. While that hurt, at least Fitz had the comfort of being her constant friend, her shoulder to cry on. To distance himself, he had tried to do the same, dating women he somewhat liked, only for it to end up disastrously. It was useless: he was in love with Jemma Simmons, and there was no way he could get past that.

Shaking his head, Fitz moved into the room. If it had been anyone else’s machine, he would have thought they were dreaming or hallucinating or _something_ ; but if anyone could pull this off, it would be him and Jemma.

He went over a table and picked up a watch, gripping the table with his other hand. The watches were solid and textured, while the table was cool to the touch.

“When are we?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“September 11th, 2005.” Jemma, who had been gazing around the room in wonder, snapped her attention back to Fitz.

Fitz raised his eyebrows. “That’s . . . the date of your 18th birthday.”

Jemma blushed slightly. “I just put it in as a sample date,” she said, somewhat defensively. “It was a good day.”

Fitz felt himself blushing in return. It had been a good day for him too — the day he realized his crush on her was _love,_ true love. The two of them had spent the day together working on a group project for a class before going back to Jemma’s room and watching sci-fi movies, relentlessly critiquing the science used in them. Late into the night Jemma had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he wondered what it would be like to wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss her awake. He had settled for gently edging out from underneath her and covering her with a blanket. That was also the night when he realized she would never feel the same way.

“I wonder . . .” Fitz turned to Jemma as her sentence trailed off. She was facing the door that led outside the room. “All theories about time travel are obviously theoretical,” she continued. “Can we actually change the past, or is the Novikov self-consistency principle accurate?”

Fitz nodded. “Harry Potter versus Doctor Who.”

They were silent for a moment. Fitz unconsciously began to scratch the nape of his neck while Jemma bit her lip. He could tell Jemma had the same worries as he did. If it turned out they _could_ change the past, did they have the responsibility to go back to their original time and not mess with the timeline? But at the same time, this discovery would change everything they knew about physics, and they had a duty to investigate it as thoroughly as possible for the sake of others.

“We shouldn’t stay here for long,” Jemma said slowly. “But while we’re here . . . it wouldn’t hurt to take a look around, just a little bit?” She gazed at Fitz, her face hopeful. Fitz wanted to argue, to say that it was too reckless, but her obvious longing and his own curiosity were too much. He sighed.

“Lead the way,” Fitz said, gesturing toward the door. They faced the door for a moment, motionless. It was safe inside this room, where they were alone and isolated. But the moment they stepped out that door, they could potentially change the future. Taking a deep breath, Jemma led the way.

They opened the door a crack and peered out. The hallway looked exactly the same as they knew, except the lights were a touch brighter. Jemma entered the hallway a step ahead of Fitz. It was so quiet Fitz could hear his heartbeat, nervous but steady. The hallway seemed to stretch out before him, each step traveling less than the one before it. Finally, they reached the outside door, and he and Jemma pushed it open together.

A bright yellow glow hit their eyes, causing them to wince immediately. As he adjusted to the sunlight, Fitz also felt the sharp autumn air bite his skin. He wanted to stand there a while, drinking in the scene. He could see the student dormitories and cafeteria across the grassy lawn from their current building. He and Jemma had their own apartment only 10 minutes away; yet he missed the camaraderie of the dorms, of coming home to strange smells and science experiments.

“What are you doing in an off-limits area?”

_Uh-oh._ A man in a uniform with a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo across the chest approached them. Fitz looked at Jemma and saw his terror mirrored on her face. If they were caught, it was only a matter of time before they were identified and their younger selves brought into the spotlight. Even if Novikov’s principle was right, chances were something terrible would have to had happened to keep their older selves from meeting their younger selves.

Jemma firmly set her lips and gave him a small nod. Even though they had never needed to communicate like this before, somehow Fitz knew exactly what she meant. He shifted his feet into a better stance. When the man reached out to put a hand on Jemma’s shoulder, they bolted, running towards the dorms.

After only a few seconds Fitz could feel himself panting. Required physical education classes had always been his most hated classes, and he hoped his adrenaline would be enough to keep him going. Jemma kept pace with him, but she too was breathing hard. A yell came from behind them, but Fitz didn’t dare look back.

Grabbing his hand, Jemma pulled them around the corner of the nearest dormitory. After rounding the next corner, she halted abruptly. She reached her arms up and began climbing the wall, seemingly unsupported. Stepping closer, Fitz was surprised to see a series of small flat pegs set into the wall, painted to blend in. Looking over his shoulder to check that they were still safe, he hastily began climbing after Jemma, who had slid open a window and was climbing through it. When she was safely inside, she reached out an arm and helped Fitz tumble inside.

He heard Jemma slam the window shut as he fell onto the carpet inside, hitting his shoulder against a coffee table. Fitz slowly pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his shoulder, and looked out the window with Jemma. The man ran past the building, looking on both sides to catch a glimpse of them. Fitz sighed in relief. They were safe, for now.

Turning back to the room around them, Fitz was surprised to see that he was in Jemma’s old dorm room. It was neat and tidy, just like Jemma herself, though the random clothes and papers revealed that Jemma had roommates.

_We’re in Jemma’s dorm. On her birthday._

He whirled around. “Are you mad?” he demanded, his voice taking on its familiar annoyed tone. “We can’t be here! Our younger selves are here!”

“Did you want us to be caught instead?” Jemma snapped. “Besides, they — we won’t be here for another 10 minutes, we can head back to the Tardilorean then.”

Fitz huffed. She was right, of course, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about everything that could go wrong.

“What were those pegs anyways?” he asked as he wandered into the living room. It still surprised him that everything looked exactly as it had eight years ago: same worn couch, same colorful rug, same scratchy woolen blankets.

“How do you think my roommates managed to attend all those late-night parties?” Jemma followed him, trailing her fingers along the wall. “I just never thought I’d use it.”

Going past the kitchen, Fitz found himself at the entrance to Jemma’s old bedroom. He smiled at the smell of chamomile tea wafting from her room; going in, he found a half-empty cup of tea on her desk. Jemma was never more English than when it came to tea.

Looking around the room, he noticed Jemma’s thoughts notebook was open on her bed. Whenever she had questions about her classes or ideas to ask him about later, she would jot them down in this notebook. Fitz remembered how distressed Jemma had been when it went missing. Curious, he decided to read her latest thoughts.

_What is it about Fitz? I’m turning 18 tomorrow — I’ll finally be an adult! — and I’m spending the whole day with him. We spend practically all our free time together. It’s like — and this sounds incredibly cheesy — I can’t imagine my life without him. I’ve never understood how two people can mean so much to each other, but now maybe I do. I don’t know. Love is just dopamine and serotonin racing around your brain, yet its effects are incredible._

_Not that I’m saying this is love, of course._

_But what if it was?_

_I have no idea what that kind of love is like. To be investigated._

Fitz nearly dropped the notebook. He’d been expecting a thought about chemical reactions, or one of their class projects, not feelings. His heart was pounding, racing with something — perhaps excitement, perhaps shock. He had to know.

He practically ran out of Jemma’s bedroom, searching until he found her. Jemma was in the kitchen, holding a magnetized whiteboard in her hand and reading the contents, her smile wistful. _Beautiful._

“Why did you kiss me?” Fitz asked, his words coming out in a rush, harsher than he meant.

Jemma’s face became panicked, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye, glancing at the notebook in his hands instead. “Because — because I thought we were going to die, and . . . I didn’t want to die without being kissed.”

_By me,_ Fitz thought, completing the sentence. He knew Jemma wasn’t being completely honest, and he could tell she knew he knew. “Jemma-“ he began.

“What is it you want to hear?” Jemma was looking at him now, her cheeks slightly flushed and her expression pained. “That I’ve wanted to kiss you since we graduated? That it’s taken me _years_ to realize that I love you?”

Fitz sucked in a breath. It felt like a rush of bubbles was cascading through his chest. _She loved him._

“Why — why didn’t you tell me?” They had spent years by each other’s side — what if he’d known sooner how she felt?

“Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” Jemma said. She was twisting her hands nervously. “Why should I say I’m in love with you when you don’t feel the same way?”

_Wait, what?_ As he opened his mouth to correct her, he heard a sound coming from another room. He and Jemma froze. It sounded like a key opening a lock . . .

“Bloody hell,” Fitz whispered. “We’re here.”

***

Jemma was almost relieved by the arrival of their younger selves. She should have known that kiss was a mistake, and now she would have to live with the mortification of unrequited love. She spun around, looking for hiding places in the kitchen. The space under the sink caught her eye. Grabbing Fitz’s arm, she pushed him toward the sink and said, “Get under there, quickly!”

As he opened the cupboard door and squeezed underneath, Jemma ran to the dining room table, pushed aside the chairs, and scrambled underneath. There was a sliding sound, and then two voices entered the dorm. Jemma’s eyes widened; she knew it was herself, her younger self, coming in, and yet hearing her own voice was extraordinary.

“Did you _see_ how the nitrogen oxide catalyzed the reaction? It was incredible!” Her own voice, sounding high-pitched and over-enthusiastic, entered the living room. Despite the risks, Jemma lifted an edge of the tablecloth and peeked out. She could see the back of her younger self, long brown hair swept back into a ponytail over a plain long-sleeved blouse. _Eight years later, and I haven’t changed much,_ Jemma thought wryly.

“ _And_ my lead composite battery appears to be twice as durable as expected.” Jemma smiled at the boyish-sounding Fitz, whose enthusiasm matched her own. She dropped the tablecloth, heart pounding as she heard his footsteps enter the kitchen.

“Where are you?” called out younger Jemma. “It’s time to watch _2001: A Space Odyssey_!”

“Just getting a snack,” younger Fitz hollered back. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

_Thump. Thump._ Jemma’s mouth went dry as younger Fitz came closer and closer to her hiding spot. There was no reason for him to look under the table, none at all; and yet, she couldn’t help but worry. _This was reckless; we should never have left the Tardilorean._

The footsteps halted for a second before reversing direction. Bewildered, Jemma realized he was pacing. _What is he waiting for?_ She remembered him spending a long time in the kitchen; at the time she’d assumed he couldn’t decide on what to eat, but now it seemed that he was debating something.

After a few more silent seconds, she suddenly heard Fitz muttering. She crawled to the edge of the table and lifted the tablecloth a little bit, to hear better.

“I should ask her, I should ask her, I should ask her.” He pivoted and began heading back toward the table. Jemma sneaked a glance. He was so startlingly young, like she had been — and just as pasty as she remembered. _He hasn’t changed either._ Luckily, Fitz was busy staring at his shoes, lost in thought; there was no way he’d notice her under the table.

“Just say this.” Younger Fitz cleared his throat. “‘Hey Jemma, um, I was wondering if, um, if you’d like to, maybe, go eat food with me. But not like we normally do. Like a . . . date.’”

He sighed loudly and slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I sound like a bloody idiot,” he said, reaching the table and pivoting once more. “Keep it simple. ‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ Perfect.”

Jemma slapped a hand across her mouth to stop from exclaiming. _He loves me back. He’s loved me for years._ A flurry of emotions stirred in her chest, the predominant one being confusion. _Why didn’t he ask?_

As if she heard her thoughts, younger Jemma spoke from the living room area. “Milton just texted me happy birthday! Do you want me to tell him you said hello?”

_Oh._

Younger Fitz immediately slumped, stopping his pacing. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice flat. Grabbing the first chips he could find, he left the kitchen.

Jemma watched as younger Fitz settled next to her younger self on the couch, their backs to the table. She glanced back at the sink. The cupboard door was slightly ajar, Fitz’s eyes watching her. She imagined he must feel just as mortified as she had.

For the meantime she decided to push that aside. _We’ll talk about all of this later._ Making sure their younger selves were occupied, Jemma crawled out from underneath the table and beckoned to Fitz. He slowly emerged from underneath the sink, wincing as his shoulder hit the frame and made a slight sound. Neither of their younger selves reacted, immersed in the movie.

Being as stealthy as they could, Jemma and Fitz tiptoed back to the window, carefully slid it open, and clambered out the window onto the pegs. The man who had chased them earlier was nowhere in sight.

Once her feet hit the ground, Jemma peeked around the corner of the dorm. The path back to the building looked clear. “Back to the Tardilorean!” she announced, not caring how ridiculous that sentence sounded.

They crossed the lawn and entered the building without any trouble. Entering the room, they were relieved to see that the Tardilorean appeared untouched. Jemma opened the door and they entered quickly, slamming it shut behind them. Striding over to the screens, Jemma input the date and time they left, then initiated the launch.

Second time around, the symptoms weren’t so bad. Jemma didn’t puke this time, though she did still hold Fitz’s hands for support. His hands gripped hers just as tightly in return. Now that she knew the machine worked, she began mentally listing the modifications they could make to ease the symptoms.

Sometime during the journey, Jemma noticed something tucked between Fitz’s elbow and side. Her eyes widened as she recognized her journal. A few things clicked into place at once. _My journal went missing shortly after my 18th birthday . . . because Fitz from the future stole it?_ The notion made her brain hurt, so she decided to ignore it until later.

When the machine finally landed with a jolt, Jemma looked up to see Fitz gazing at her, seeming . . . disappointed?

“I thought you were going to kiss me again,” Fitz explained sheepishly.

Jemma laughed shakily. “When I do it, I would rather be stationary, not traveling God-knows-how-fast through a wormhole through time.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Fitz gave her a timid smile, which Jemma returned. She noticed that they were still holding hands, neither one loosening their grip. Suddenly it didn’t seem necessary to talk. She knew he loved her; he knew she loved him. What more needed to be said?

Testing the waters, she unclasped one of her hands to gently cup his face. His eyes ( _his beautiful blue eyes_ ) were soft, and Fitz looked at her like nothing and nobody else existed except for her. Jemma felt her breath hitch. She don’t know which one of them moved first, but it didn’t matter; their lips met in a soft kiss, much gentler than her desperate one from earlier. Fitz wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer; the notebook fell to the floor. Their left hands were still intertwined, but Jemma shifted them so that they rested on Fitz’s chest.

As Fitz deepened the kiss, pushing with a new intensity, Jemma threaded her fingers through his hair. God, she’d waited so long to do that. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, through her intertwined fingers. Their bodies fit together perfectly. She’d kissed several guys while at the Academy, but none of them had been like this. Fitz held her like she was a precious jewel: securely, but with care. At that moment, Jemma had never been happier.

***

When their kiss finally ended, Fitz rested his forehead against hers. “Still think we should call it a night?” he asked, his voice breathy.

Jemma pulled her head back. “I don’t even remember what time it is,” she admitted, peering around his shoulder to glance at the screens on the wall. The screens flashed the current time: 2:14 a.m. Barely any time had passed since she’d activated the machine.

“I’m not tired.” Fitz gave her a mischievous grin. “Besides, we haven’t tested the teleportation function yet.”

Jemma turned back to him, her smile matching his. She was practically radiant. “And we would be negligent scientists if we didn’t throughly investigate all the Tardilorean’s capabilities,” she added mock seriously.

“For science. Of course.” Fitz gently pulled Jemma over to the second screen, pulling up a world map. “Where would you like to go?”

“When I was a little girl, on a road trip with my parents, we passed through this quaint town in Scotland called Perthshire.” Jemma smiled fondly at the memory. “We stopped at this small tea shop for sandwiches. We should go there.”

“Perthshire? Hmm.” Fitz typed in the name, pulling up the coordinates and inputting them into the program. He hovered over the launch button for a moment, feeling a surge of boldness. “Jemma Simmons, will you go on a date with me?”

Jemma’s smile was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “I’d be delighted,” she said, squeezing his hand.

Fitz took a deep breath, shouted “Allons-y!” and pressed the launch button. He chuckled softly as the room began to spin once more. Two incredible things had happened tonight: he successfully traveled back in time, and learned that Jemma loved him back. And he knew it was the latter that mattered most of all.


End file.
